Ersatz
by problematick
Summary: He blinked, comprehension dawning and his facial muscles relaxing as he realized she’d had sex the night before. Something in him went cold, just above his stomach. He immediately thought whoever it was wasn’t good enough for her. [xposted svufiction]
1. Let's Get These Teen Hearts Beating

AN: Woo, song-fic. Lyrics of Panic! At The Disco, _Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off_. I'm sorry, the first verse just drew me into it. I usually frown upon song-fics, but I've got about three prepared, including this one. Whoops. I suppose the setting is up through the middle of season seven-ish. Elliot's separated/divorced, whatever.

Disclaimer: Yeah, of course they're mine. (Assistant whispers into her ear.) What?! I don't?! Excuse me while I go slit my wrists.

--

Chapter 1: Let's Get These Teen Hearts Beating

Olivia sighed, noting that the persistent blonde from across the room was making eyes at her again. He was young, and she knew tonight would be all there was, if there even was a tonight. Accepting the second rum and coke glass, she ran a hand through her hair and knew if she took a sip he'd approach. Closing her eyes against the scrutinizing eye of the bartender, she raised the alcohol to her lips, deciding the free booze was worth it. Predictably, the hotshot slithered across the room, sliding onto the stool next to her and invading her personal space to murmur what she assumed he thought was seductively.

"I was beginning to think you'd never notice me over there," he said, offering a smile that she had to admit was quite charming. She repressed another tired sigh and forced the flirtatious retort.

"I was beginning to think you didn't have the guts to make a move," she teased, knocking back the rest of the liquor, wishing there was more in her system already. He was handsome, but it was going to take a lot more than some watered down rum to convince her brain it was _him_.

"Feisty. I could tell you were from where I was sitting," he noted, going for the obvious. Nodding for the tender to bring another drink for her, she called to him, asking for a shot of tequila instead. "Damn, tequila? I don't know if I can keep up with you," he chuckled, leaning his arm on the bar and nearly leering at her.

She almost snorted, eyeing him once more, wondering if he _was_ too young for her. "If you can't keep up with an old woman, I don't think we should be speaking."

"Old? Please. You're only what, 34, 35?" She licked her lips and gave him a sideways glance. He was pretty good, at flattery anyway.

"Sure." Her grin belied the lie, but his steely blues only twinkled with amusement as he leaned in again, the movement more endearing than the first time. (Maybe the alcohol was finally kicking in.)

"So maybe I like older women."

"Oh? You were targeting me, then?"

"Heh. No, but I did think you were the most beautiful woman in the room." She rolled her eyes at this, and caught the shot sliding down the wood with an experienced hand.

"Save the chit-chat, kiddo." Downing the shot, she immediately felt the rush the tequila offered and knew she'd be much more amenable to his corny lines in a few minutes.

"What do you do?" He asked, an innocent question for most, the relationship-killer for her.

Stifling the groan threatening to break through, she nodded for one last drink before turning to him, standing from her stool and realizing that he was tall, even in heels. Good. _He _was taller than her too. It'd be easier to imagine.

"Don't ask, don't tell. Trust me," she said, raising the shot glass to her lips and gazing at him over the amber liquid, feeling a little more scandalous than usual. "You don't wanna know."

He stood as well, leaning forward to the small cup of liquid, his lips grazing her knuckles curled around the glass and his tongue flicking at the tequila, his eyes never leaving hers, even as she arched a brow at his effrontery.

"Fine."

"Fine," she repeated, swallowing the last gulp of the intoxicating liquid and leaving the glass on the bar. "Did you drink?" She leaned into him as he pulled out his wallet, dropping a few bills for the tender. He moved closer to her, his hands roving down the sides of her smooth navy dress while hers slid over the pressed black shirt hiding what felt like a rock-solid body.

"Too busy watching you," he mumbled, eager to press his lips against hers, but she pulled back, only offering her neck as she grabbed at his arms, whispering.

"Good. Let's get out of here." Things were starting to get fuzzy as she accompanied him out of the bar, barely making it outside before he pushed her into the wall, finally capturing her mouth with a rather skilled one. His tongue wasn't immediately shoved down her throat, and he was passionate nonetheless.

She knew she was slipping into that state of consciousness where her fantasy meshed with reality. If he spoke in a low voice and she didn't look into the eyes that weren't quite the same shade of blue, she might be able to hold onto his hard body and pretend.

_Is it still me that makes you sweat?  
Am I who you think about in bed?  
_

Yes, it was _him_ who she thought about in bed. She didn't even know this boy's name as they tumbled into his sleek BMW, their heavy breathing the only sounds in the subdued ride back to her apartment. She kept her eyes closed, his hand roving over as far as he could reach and her thoughts of a different man on her mind.

They never made it out of the car. As he pulled to a stop in front of her building, he reached over slowly, giving her a chance to back out. She opened her eyes, the brown hues rusted with lust.

_When the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you're sliding off your dress?  
Then think of what you did,  
And how I hope to God he was worth it._

In the light filtered in from his extremely dark windows, his eyes were filled with the shadowed hunger that haunted her dreams. For an instant, he had the eyes she needed, and she pulled him toward her, her hands reaching for the buttons to divest him of the garment hiding his chest. He moved with a practiced grace over the console, trapping her between the seat and the door, quietly and predatorily. She found the zipper on the side of her dress, adrenaline making her shake, his intensity making her quiver. The booze in her system clouded her judgment, and for now, he'd do.

_When the lights are dim and your heart is racing as your fingers touch your skin.  
_

His long fingers skimmed over her exposed shoulders, sliding the straps over her curves and kissing all the skin he could find, bending his neck to nibble at hers, her back arching into his touch. She felt her pulse quicken and she stripped off his shirt, her hands finding his back and feeling the heat of his tensed muscles under his smooth skin.

_I've got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck  
Than any boy you'll ever meet, sweetie you had me.  
_

She was glad for his silence, glad to let her mind slip into make-believe. _He_ did have more wit, and a touch that burned her even when their fingertips simply grazed in exchanging a file. But she could only dream of his kiss, how he could make her melt with a skilled fuck better than she'd probably ever had. She could only imagine, and she only had him in a way that killed her little by little inside.

_Girl, I was it, look past the sweat, a better love deserving of  
Exchanging body heat in the passenger seat?  
No, no, no, you know it will always just be me._

She'd give almost anything for something more than a quick, reckless moment in a car, or a frenzied fuck on the couch of her apartment, but she'd never had _him_ like that, and she wouldn't give up what they had for what they could have. She let herself go, moaning and groaning under the man's kneading touch, his pants pooling around his ankles and her dress bunching around her middle.

He lasted longer than she thought he would, and she realized as long as she had _his_ face in her mind, she could let herself go over the edge at any time, because it would always just be him. The only time she held back was when she kept from screaming his name at the end, and she just moaned in a low voice, growling her way into panting and recovering from the feverish screwing they'd just participated in.

_Let's get these teen hearts beating. Faster, faster!  
So testosterone boys and harlequin girls,  
Will you dance to this beat, and hold a lover close?_

He slid back into his seat, his head falling back to the headrest as he pulled himself together. Olivia did the same, taking a deep breath and pulling her dress enough to cover herself from voyeuristic onlookers. She turned her head toward him, feeling more than her usual wrenching regret, almost content with this replacement. He blinked at her, a smirk twitching his lips.

"So, are you going to invite me up?"

She even laughed, wiggling back into the proper way to wear her dress, his fingers beating hers to the zipper, which was somehow sensually drawn up to the swell of her breast.

"Why not?"

_So testosterone boys and harlequin girls,  
Will you dance to this beat, and hold a lover close?  
_

She gripped him as they tangled in her sheets, her mind hazy as they spent more time on the third round, the second having been against her door. He somehow began to fill the void, even if it was on some shallow, superficial, animalistic level of physical need. With the liquor in her system, she sweated out the guilt that it wasn't _him_, and held the youthful substitute under her, blood pounding in her ears with the energy of their 'dance'.

A little later after they lay curled in the sheets, he propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her with a small smile.

"As much fun as this is," he said, the present tense not lost on her, "I'm sure the job that must-not-be-named would prefer you get some actual sleep tonight." She sat up, modest and pulling the covers with her, an arm strapped across her chest, her hair tousled and framing her face.

"Yeah," she whispered, wondering why she had the notion anything louder would echo through her empty apartment once he left. He dressed casually and quietly, sitting back on the bed to lace his shoes. Olivia drew her knees up, watching shamelessly as he dressed, her eyes wandering over the hard edges of the body she'd just so intimately known. Sobriety was rapidly catching up with her, and she crossed her arms over her knees, placing her chin on her wrists and allowing a large sigh to escape.

She was surprised when he leaned back onto the bed, touching her arm gently. She gave him credit for a single downward glance, the awkwardness of a one-night stand not lost on him.

"If… if this was it, then I guess I'll be okay with that, but I'd like to see you again, if you'd have me." He didn't ask for an answer, simply took her chin gently in his hand and guided her lips to his in the softest kiss they'd shared all night. "James."

She blinked, suddenly breathless. She exhaled, an airy, "Olivia… Benson…" passing her swollen lips as he smiled at her, his eyes taking on that darkness that reminded her so much of _him_.

"James Riley. Goodnight, Olivia." He stole one more kiss from her, leaving her quite stunned with a card tucked neatly into her alarm clock and locking the door behind him.


	2. Faster, Faster!

Summary: He blinked, comprehension dawning and his facial muscles relaxing as he realized she'd had sex the night before. Something in him went cold, just above his stomach. A fist clenched in his gut as he immediately thought whoever it was wasn't good enough for her.

--

Chapter 2: Faster, Faster!

She strolled into the squad room, dropping her jacket on the back of her chair and leaning against the lockers, twirling the dial to hers and whistling softly to herself. Elliot jogged down the stairs, looking crisp and organized, but with a red cheek that told her he'd spent another night on the city's oh-so-comfortable sheets, the wool scratchy against his sensitive skin. She doesn't mention that she knows, only drops her purse into the metal box and closes the combination lock again.

"Mornin'," he offers, sliding into his swivel chair as she mirrored him at their paired desks, a cup of coffee offered to them by Fin on his way to his desk. She smiled gratefully.

"Owe you one," she said. "Morning." She sipped her coffee slowly, a small smile appearing as she tasted the one spoonful of cream and one spoonful of sugar he always put in her cup. He did this despite her insistence that she liked it black and strong.

Setting down the mug and feeling more energized already, she dived into her mountain of paperwork, sorting through the file folders on her desk with more fervor than usual, tucking her hair behind her ears and humming songs under her breath.

"What's up with you?" He asked bluntly, his pen hovering mid-word as he furrowed his brows at her. She looked up, arching a brow back at him rather quizzically.

"Nothing's up with me, I'm fine. What's wrong?"

He continued to stare her down, and for a fleeting moment she felt like the rest of the world dissolved away. Nothing existed but the two of them, that pair, that awesome entity that was Benson and Stabler.

_So I guess we're back to us, oh cameraman, swing the focus_

He saw her face, make-up-less and still radiant. He saw her hair had more volume than usual, like hands had been running through it all night. He heard the way she hummed, knowing that she rarely hummed anything, and even rarer was it a popular rock song along the lines of Panic! At The Disco.

"What, El?"

He blinked, comprehension dawning and his facial muscles relaxing as he realized she'd had sex the night before. Something in him went cold, just above his stomach. A fist clenched in his gut as he immediately thought whoever it was wasn't good enough for her. He closed his mouth, which had fallen open in his train of thought, clenching his jaw lightly before raising his chin, offering his partner a twitch of his lips.

"Nothin'. Nevermind." He dropped his head to his work and began scribbling furiously. Olivia felt as if a chasm a thousand miles wide had just opened up between them, expanding in the blink of an eye. She could only wonder silently what the hell had set him off on this tangent. Shaking her head briefly, she shrugged one shoulder.

"Okay."

-

They circled the table, orbiting in opposite directions and passing each other every few steps, sharing small, subtle looks.

"You can't hide anymore, Matthew. We know what you did," she said.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The boy fidgeted in his seat, eyes trying to follow the both of them at the same time, his anxiety increasing when she paused behind him in his blind spot.

"Of course you do," Elliot said, getting indignant and slamming his hands on the table, leaning across the desk toward the suspect, his blue eyes narrowed at the 22-year-old. His face began to redden as his abhorrence of perps rose like bile in the back of his throat.

"I--I swear, I don't--"

"Matthew, you're not going to get away with it, don't you understand? All the evidence proves you took that little girl from the park, drove her downtown and molested her in the back of your van for an hour before letting her go." Her voice was calm and even, almost reasoning with him. "Why did you let her go?"

The boy paused, lip quivering as he decided his fate. Then his shoulders slumped and he dropped his fists to the same tabletop Elliot had slammed his onto many times before.

"I-- she was so small, and so pretty. I couldn't kill her. She begged me to let her go, she wanted her mommy so much… I just opened the door and she ran out." Matthew broke down, and the two detectives shared a look over his bowed head, exiting the interrogation room.

"Good job, you two," Cragen said, the captain on the other side of the mirror seeming almost impervious to yet another perverted man's tale of defiling an 11-year-old child. He nodded to the uniformed officer, the man knowing to receive the perp's statement. The soulful brown eyes simply looked at the partners before he walked away.

Elliot and Olivia were left in the silence of the observation room. She stuck her hands in her pockets, rolling her neck as he leaned against the one-way window. Their balance in the interrogation room was the closest thing to their usual sync they'd been all day.

_In case I lost my train of thought, where was it that we last left off?  
(Let's pick up, pick up)_

"Do I know him?" He asked, roughing up his brushed brown hair and rolling up his sleeves, finding excuses not to look at her while he waited for her to understand.

"What--" She started to ask in return, then stopped, her heart jumping into her throat and her stomach plummeting to the floor like a brick.

_Oh, now I do recall, we were just getting to the part_

_Where the shock sets in, and the stomach acid finds a new way to make you get sick._

"How…did you know?" She asked, a wave of déjà vu crashing over her as she remembered her first year with the unit, and his discovery of her fling with Cassidy within 48 hours. Her eyebrows flew into her trademark incredulous look, and she simply blinked at him, astounded.

"Whaddya mean, how did I know? I told you before, it's something you just know about your partner, and you didn't answer my question. Do I know him?" Elliot asked, emphasizing his last four words like his life depended on it. The look in his eyes was unreadable, something Olivia hadn't been on the receiving end of before.

"I don't think it's any of your damn business," she retorted, feeling the anger rise in her. "Did you have another couple of unis tail me after last night, because it was a hard case and you were worried about me? Is this some kind of normal thing to spy on me?" She pushed off the wall and began to pace, Elliot falling into step and circling with her.

"No, but is it a normal thing for you to keep evading my questions? I bet I do know him. Meloni, from Narcotics."

"You son-of-a-bitch, what is your problem? You've never been this worked up before over my personal life! Since when does it matter to you? And _no_, you don't know him, alright?!"

He charged her, backing her up against a wall without touching her at all, their bodies an inch apart and tingling with the energy between them. The tension stretched thick as Olivia tried to catch her breath, her eyes flicking back and forth between his lips and his eyes, each looking more inviting than the last as she waited for his response, his presence quiet and seething.

Finally, he answered.

"I can smell him on you, Liv. I know you, and I know when something's happened," he said, tilting back on his heels a bit to continue to stare at her, his deep cobalt blues hiding his tumultuous feelings. "I'm a detective, remember? It's my job to know these kind of things."

_I hope you didn't expect that you'd get all of the attention._

"I know you only had one coffee today, yet you're more awake than me." She hadn't even noticed until now, as he was so damn draining, and put a hand to the back of her neck, trying to rub away at the truth that was settling over her shoulders.

"I know your hair is usually parted the other way," he noted, and her hands flew to her golden tresses, frantically raking fingers finding that it wasn't falling dead center or to her right, it was _parted_ on the right, like he said. She'd felt a little off balance all day and hadn't put her finger on it. Her eyes were just surprised now, as he began to back out of her space.

_Now let's not get selfish,  
Did you really think I'd let you kill this chorus?_

He left her with a sneer, tossing a cold, "But like you said, this son of a bitch should mind his own damn business, huh?"

The last glimpse she had of his eyes was strange, and made her look at him more closely, but by the time she could he was gone, his footsteps echoing away down the hall to the pen where he'd grab up his stuff and leave before she had a chance to chase after him.

She didn't chase him, though. She didn't because of what she saw. What she _thought_ she saw. And if she was right, Elliot Stabler was not a man you chase when he wants to be alone to find a way to erase his tears.

Slumping against the wall, she slid her hand into her pocket, fingertips meeting the sharp edge of a business card. Furrowing her brows, she pulled it out with two fingers, finding a neat, dark print advertising James Riley, attorney at law. Flipping the card, she found a dark scrawl with a purple pen she knew to be lying on her bedstand.

**Hope you call up this young'un again, Olivia. -James**

She swallowed hard, and moved toward the door, gathering her stuff just as quickly as Elliot and flipping open her phone as she hurried down the steps of the one-six.

("Hello?")

"James?" She breathed, suddenly unable to keep her heart from fluttering at the sound of his voice.

_Let's get these teen hearts beating._

("Olivia?")

"Hi. I know it's kind of short notice, but…" she trailed off as he interrupted her, gently.

("Can't get enough of me?") She blushed, her lips twisting into a half pout, half smile. Arrogant prick.

"You keep thinkin' that."

("It's actually funny. More like vice versa all day, Olivia.")

_Faster, faster!_

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Bumpa-thumpa-bump-a-bump-ba-bump. Was it just her or did someone turn up the heat all of the sudden? Maybe it was more like someone jump-started her heart which was going a mile a minute.

"Suave as you think you are, I'm outside wondering if all this playful banter is going to get us anywhere tonight."

(His response was immediate. "Where do you want me to pick you up?")

Oh, boy.

She told him the same bar where they'd met and hailed a cab, popping in to knock one beer back in record time before he walked in the door, his eyes scanning and honing in on her in an instant.

"Hi," he said, a smile curving his lips.

"Hi," she replied lamely, putting down the money for her beer and looking up into his blues, reality and fantasy starting to meld once again as she thought she saw a glimpse of _him_ - though this time she couldn't blame it on the booze.

He didn't respond further, just smiled and took her arm, leading her back to his car, that fateful car. She slid into the passenger seat, wondering how she was back in it for the second time in less than 24 hours.

_So testosterone boys and harlequin girls,  
Will you dance to this beat, and hold a lover close?_

This time they checked into a sweet hotel, nothing cheesy or gamey or dingy. The kind of hotel a couple might check into if they were staying with the in-laws and just needed some alone time. She wondered briefly at his dropping so much money on her, and tried to guess at his branch of law before his roving hands caught her attention more.

_So testosterone boys and harlequin girls,  
Will you dance to this beat, and hold a lover close?_

She held him tightly for a moment as they backed onto the bed half-dressed. She breathed him in and kept him in her arms like he was going to disappear. Her blood was rushing through her, adrenaline glad to be back on the job of erasing _his_ memory. James simply let her hold him, looking at her tousled hair and already kiss-swollen lips, smiling at the effect he apparently had on this intoxicating woman.

She couldn't believe she was back in his arms again, using the replacement she had barely contemplated even talking to as a one-night-stand. She couldn't believe how fast her heart racing because of this ersatz Elliot. She felt each beat, pounding in her ears louder than anything, drowning out his murmurs, her thoughts, her guilt and _his_ face.


End file.
